The Vicarious Life
by Tea Leaf
Summary: Blaming herself for Sasuke's death, Sakura takes it upon herself to fulfill his lost ambitions. MF


**Disclaimer:** Naruto isn't mine.

**Author Notes: **This is part one of two, possibly of three, and is more of a prequel to a one-shot which is why it's in the shorter side of things. Many thanks and much love to Roark28 for being such a fantastic beta!

Dedicated to the truly wonderful Wicked Innuendo, thank you for being so patient with me. I hope it's worth the wait.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**The Vicarious Life**

Part I

By: Tea Leaf

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Did it really always rain during funerals in Konoha, or did it just seem like it?

It was raining during this one.

All around her, people huddled under their umbrellas in a futile attempt to shelter themselves from the cold, heavy drops that were falling in sheets. She stood in the open though; she deserved the full force of the onslaught. It was her failings that had led to this funeral in the first place. The body had already been cremated, his ashes stored away with those of his entire clan, save one, at the Uchiha memorial. 

She stood alone at the edge of the crowd that had come to pay their last respects to one Uchiha Sasuke. She stared at them. Ino was bawling unabashedly at the very front, with a sombre Shikamaru not even attempting to consol her at her side. Naruto was near the front as well, gulping every now and then as he attempted to swallow the tears that were slowly leaking down his cheeks. Their sensei stood by him, not crying but looking older and sadder than she'd ever seen him to be.

And it was all her fault.

Things had finally been going well for Sasuke. He was an ANBU captain and felt that he was finally strong enough to defeat his brother, though she was the only one he'd told that to. He had also started looking to his second dream, deeming that at seventeen, he was old enough to rebuild his clan. Secrets shared in the dark.

And she'd ruined his dreams.

Her perpetual failings and shortcomings had fostered his conception of her needing protection. So much so that even as a freshly tattooed ANBU on her first mission, he had still jumped in to save her. He'd still seen her as the weak link in their team. The one that couldn't look after herself. Maybe she still was. Maybe despite it all, she always would be. But that time…that time she'd had it under control. But he hadn't known, he couldn't have known and now…now he was dead. Now his life had been wasted on her. His ambitions were lost and never to be fulfilled.

She'd stolen everything he'd had left.

She felt numb, the rain pounding on her shoulders, the grief of her peers weighing heavily on her mind. She'd stolen him from everyone else. 

At least, she could remain dignified during his funeral. 

And so as the fifth Hokage gave her eulogy for the Uchiha survivor, Haruno Sakura, the girl everyone expected to fall apart at the seams, stood tall under the weight of the rain.

Those who might have been paying attention to her could have noticed her vacant stare slowly focus, and the restrained expression on her face slowly turn to determination as her mind finally decided to fix the wrongs her body had committed.

But no one was watching.

…………..

The rain echoed in the high, peaked ceiling, it echoed in her mind. The smell of wet cedar and cold sweat filled her nose, the damp air filling her lungs. His skin was cool to the touch, clammy. He didn't seem to care. Idly, she wondered if she felt the same.

If she did, he didn't seem to mind. Maybe he'd expected it.

It seemed to her that the rain hadn't stopped in over a month now. The heavy black clouds from the funeral followed her as she had left the village and fled the country, frowned upon her when she'd reinvented herself, and now wept as she followed through with her plan.

She had left no note, said no goodbyes. They would have hindered her progress. It was easier for her to simply slip out in the night, to slide behind the pale, flat mask her shishou had been so proud to give her, and to disappear.

As far as she was concerned, their Sakura had died with her Sasuke.

Her hunt had been long, taking her across three different countries before she'd finally read the pattern in her prey's movements.

They always gravitated back to this place, a small, run down inn with wooden walls, open ceilings, and no insulation. It was in a small village in one of the tiny countries wedged between Wind and Rock, unclaimed by the shinobi. Ungoverned.

She'd found a niche here, she hadn't had a choice. Her updated bingo book had declared her missing under suspicious circumstances after a week. She'd been declared a deserter after three.

That had been the day when she had fully realised that she could never turn back. She hadn't thought about it until then. And for a second, she had felt so horrible for what she had done to her friends, her mentors, the people who cared about her. And then she remembered what she'd done to the person she'd cared about.

She was doing the right thing.

She gasped slightly in shock, taken by surprise at the sudden violation. Her body felt far too tight, uncomfortable, unused to being used in such a way. It hurt, in a different way than it had the first time. Her flesh was too dry; it felt like she was being rubbed raw.

He didn't seem to care.

Her body rocked backwards as his pushed into it, dragging her back to the moment.

A voice in the back of her mind screamed at her for laying there and letting him do this to her. She was betraying Sasuke.

But she was sure Sasuke would forgive her once she explained that this infidelity was for the greater good. She was going to rebuild his clan for him, because that's what he'd wanted to do for as long as she'd known him, and because he'd asked her to help him.

She couldn't help but wince at the sudden, sharp thrust. She stared up at him, his long dark hair shadowing most of his face, his eyes, blood red beneath dark, sooty eyelashes. His lips were parted ever so slightly, his breathing only perceptively heavy to her because she'd been trained to see strain.

If she squinted and let the harsh lines blur, they almost looked the same.

That thought made it easier.

…………..

He was naked, body just slightly too thin to be healthy, and unnaturally pale. Sitting in one of the rough, wooden chairs that were common in the rented rooms, chin propped in his hand, elbow braced against the table, he stared at her. His other arm rested along the back of the chair, his legs were half crossed, his ankle resting on the opposite leg's knee.

He blinked, long and slow, lethargically, his eyes were dry and stung slightly.

She was awake, though she pretended not to be, her own naked body covered by the itchy, wool blanket.

She hadn't been dressed since she'd stepped through that door. She'd never caught him asleep; she suspected he hadn't slept at all.

Three days.

She was sore and exhausted, but his constant scrutiny raised the small hairs on the back of her neck and gave her goose bumps. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. She couldn't guess what would happen if she let her guard down.

She didn't think he knew who she was, though he had probably guessed a few elements. Her ANBU tattoo had been removed a long time ago, but her body was lean, rock hard with muscle. Few careers exacted that kind of a toll on a person's physicality.

But he never asked her about it. He never said anything. He just…stared.

…………..

She woke up alone. Waking, meaning she had fallen asleep. She couldn't remember if she had passed out from exhaustion or if he had had a hand in it. Her memory of the past week was fuzzy at best, which let her to believe he had tampered with them, if not tried to erase them completely.

That he hadn't, showed that he hadn't guessed her rank. That didn't surprise her. Her strength was subtle, laying more in her control and her intelligence than in her physical power. It was a subtlety that had proven to be to her advantage on many occasions, this being no exception.

The room was quiet, the silence echoed in her mind. She'd grown accustomed to the steady drumming of water against wood.

She looked to the window. The sky was grey, pale grey. It wasn't dark enough to rain, but it held the potential of getting worse before it got better.

Her stomach flip-flopped nauseatingly, stealing her attention. A week of oh so cautiously amplifying her fertility with her chakra and some simple medic know-how had taken its toll.

She rubbed it gently and sat up, the rough, wool blanket pooling around her hips. She was still naked. She looked around and found her clothes folded and stacked in a neat pile, a wad of cash placed meticulously on top.

…………..

She wasn't sure what she had felt when she'd discovered she was pregnant. She hadn't been happy, but she hadn't been upset. She hadn't felt successful, but she hadn't felt like a failure either. She'd felt…cold. Just…cold.

The months that followed had proven to be the true test of her ability. She had disappeared from that small town, with its wooden inns and questionable characters, and taken to traveling.

There was something inherently suspicious about a pregnant woman traveling alone, especially one that avoided large cities and the local shinobi. But she'd managed to get by thanks to her innocent smile and helpful ways, often trading her medical knowledge for food and lodgings.

She had been very cautious, her odd coloring made her stand out and her previous position as apprentice to Konoha's fifth Hokage had given her a frightening level of exposure to foreign shinobi. But she had managed.

And by the time she went into labour, she was cloistered in a convent in the very far north of the Lightning Country, with a mid-wife instead of a medic-nin.

The rain pounded against the stone exterior and rattled the glass panes of the window. But Sakura was far too distracted to notice.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as another contraction assaulted her, her muscles clenched painfully as she pushed.

She was drenched in sweat, from the exertion and from the fire that had brought the temperature of the room to a sweltering head.

Again, again, again, until finally a sharp wail echoed against the wall, echoed inside her mind.

She had a son. With dark, dark hair, and dark, dark eyes that would eventually become bloodshot.

Wrapped in a blanket, he was set in her arms, set against her breast which was sore and swollen like the rest of her.

The blanket slipped in her numb hands, her baby's hand reaching out for her. His left hand.

Her eyes widened, glazed green and red tinged edges overexposed as she stared in shock.

Her stare followed the line of his tiny arm, to the spot right below where his neck met his shoulder, to the tiny, dark brown birthmark.

That familiar mark that had been burned into the shoulder of her beloved when they were twelve as she'd watched.

Three curving teardrops, so dark against the pale skin.

Sasuke's.


End file.
